Lost (My Damn Mind)

Diaryland decided that what I had to say yesterday wasn't funny enough, or juicy or whatever, even though I totally named names and said "fuck" all the time.

Whatever, Dude.
I've been loyal for a long time but I could follow the masses and move to something trendier any time I wanted to - I've tested it and been tempted but my innate sense of honor always makes me stand by your side, Diaryland. Just watch, it Sister. I've got a back-up plan.

Speaking of plans, I've got pretty sweet plans for the long weekend - they involve working. It's not often but it happens.

Look, I don't think I can do this today, write something interesting.
I'm so preoccupied by Lost.
It's the season finale tonight. I'm pretty focused on that, to the point where... well... I am likely to skip practice. I NEVER do that unless it's the day after my team played a game or unless I am out of town.

It's a big deal, this show.
It makes me think about all kinds of things, like LIFE things. Like, how much fun it would be to be a survivor on a mysterious island.
I'm pretty sure I would not be one of the people who die off early. I'm so awkward and have become mostly unpleasant in attitude and demeanor. I bet I would live just to be someone else's bad Karma. I'd be an Albatross for the group. "Oh NO, Mister. There's no fucking WAY I am going to move form this spot to that one way over there. That is goddamn stupid!!!"
"You can just stop talking about finding food because there's so many fucking mosquitos that we're going to be dead from malaria in a matter of days."
"You don't KNOW PAIN, Jerko! Your leg is at least going to rot off at some point! My face is never going to go away and this humidity is doing nothing for my BAD SKIN!!"

Simply because I am difficult, I will live through the worst case of any scenario, trust me. It's already happened like a hundred times in Middle Class White Girl worst case scenario terms.
And my survival may not always be pleasant for those who are left with me. Things have devolved into my being incapable of decent human interaction before coffee. I'm not even wading in Spinster waters at this point, I am there. I am full-on angry if there is any kind of attempted human interaction. First, I talk to the dog. Then I talk to the cat. Then I have Big Coffee. Then I talk to you. Because I am like that, I would so be one of the people who doesn't die early. I'm a lesson in patience that everyone could use.

Since I would end up not dying off in the first or second few rounds of death, I would maybe start to feel a sense of superiority to the ones who did kick-it.
This would be just the self-esteem boost I need to start stepping up and really pitching in, even beginning to brush my hair again.
Oh yeah I would have had a go with a satisfying period of total beauty anarchy. Not being able to shave everyday in a hot, American shower would be so much of a shock to my system that I think I would temporarily be paralyzed.
We would laugh about it later, I'm sure.

I would gradually become less weird and since so many people would have died off, I would probably start to take care of things like keeping the fire going or maybe washing things for people because it's the only household chore at which I excel.

Eventually, it would become clear that we're stuck on an island and that multiple forces are trying to kill us; we really need to all start getting along here.
Furthermore, it is highly likely everyone back in the real world thinks we're dead anyway so we can forget about making up stories about how so-and-so REALLY died.

this is the point in the story where I would argue strongly and persuasively for starting a new civilization because there are seriously only two genetic choices: Publish or Perish.
Plus, with the Beauty Hiatus I took upon arrival, I am sure that I would need a rule requiring someone to hook up with me.
Which, now that I think about it, isn't such a bad idea in general.

arizonasarah at 2:33 p.m.

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